


The Fallen

by OninekoHikari



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Torture, a future risk for gore and mental anguish., battles, descriptions of wounds and damages
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-30 02:19:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5146673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OninekoHikari/pseuds/OninekoHikari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mairon never managed to flee in time at the end of the War of Wrath. <br/>- Aka I felt like writing angst and this happened. If you enjoy it, I would really be happy for some feedback. Depending on the response and my own creativity I might write more :) This is my first time in years that I write somethign of this ilk, so I’m quite worried</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fallen

They were coming…! This could not be happening….!

Mairon ran as fast as he possibly could through the fortress, dodging arrows and jumping over rubble that lay in his way. There were dead orcs and maiar everywhere, crushed under drabble and stones or hit by arrows. 

They were already inside the fortress….!

He was hurt and limping already, blood running from a wound over his eye and blinding him, but he couldn’t stop…! No, even as opposing soldiers attempted to stop him he whirled through them like a whirlwind of death. Blood spurted around him, bones shattered, but he couldn’t hear the shrieks of pain as he ran by them. 

There were more and more soldiers in his way and each time it grew harder to cut them down. He was bruised and harmed and exhausted, but he wouldn’t stop…! He couldn’t stop…!

‘Melkor…!’

He was panting harshly, a heavy taste of iron in his mouth but he kept on running. He would soon be there…! Soon…! If only there weren’t so many accursed elves in his way…!  
He could see the doors to the throne room now and he struggled to get there, clutching his side where he already had a rather deep gash.

Melkor….!!

 

Just as he was about to reach the door, more humans and elves stepped out in front of him. They were going for the throneroom, with their backs turned to him, and an ice cold panic went through him. He would NOT let them have him….!!   
He threw himself at them with the last force he could muster, using both magic flames and his swords to scatter them. He took them by surprise, and because of that he managed to bring some of them down. However, he was weak and exhausted and harmed already, while these men and elves had barely had to fight yet. They were parts of the reinforcements that had been sent for in the last moment, and they were quite a match for him. He took more damage than he should have, but he had to fight on…! This body didn’t mean anything to him…! He could always replace it later…!

Suddenly the ground shook, making the lot of them lose their balance. Everything ached, everything hurt so bad, but he had to stand up again….! He forced himself to his feet and darted for the throne room.   
Ancalagon had fallen with a mighty shriek, and it was his fall that had shaken the ground that badly. Their greatest dragon was dead - Melkor’s masterpiece was gone….! 

The men would soon be on him again, but he wouldn’t fall before he reached Melkor….! 

He threw himself at the grand door and swung it open, throwing himself inside and shutting it, jamming a sword into the handles so that they wouldn’t be able to open it without quite a lot of force from the outside. Mere moments after, they started their attempts, tugging on the door and then loud thumps could be heard as they tried to throw themself at it in order to get it open.   
It wouldn’t hold for long - They would soon be in…!

“Mairon, you look terrible…”

At the sound of that voice he turned around, panting still and trying to stop the bleeding in his side. 

Melkor….!!!

Melkor was just standing there, wearing not his grand battle armour, but a regular black tunic, leggings and on his brow shone his crown. He still looked regal as ever, but the light clothes worried Mairon immensly and he staggered towards him. 

“My lord….! You have to leave…! Why aren’t you wearing your armour…!? You have to run!” he pleaded, about to collapse but Melkor picked him up, supporting him enough so that he could stand. 

“I won’t run, Mairon” he replied softly, looking over his lieutenant’s injuries with a deep frown. “… But you should. I will not have you fall with me tonight. You will live on. I know of my fate already, and I do not want you to be a part of it”  
Mairon grew icily cold with terror at those words. He scanned his master’s face for ay sign that he was joking, that he was just saying things, but there was no way he could question the sincerity in Melkor’s words. He truly wanted him to run and just leave him behind…!

“N-no…! No! How can you ask that of me…!?” he breathed, clutching his master’s tunic tightly. “You can’t just ask me to leave you behind!! I will not do it…!!!”  
“Mairon…”  
“NO!! Master, you can’t ask this of me…!! I’m nobody, I’m just a maia…! You are a vala…! The greatest Ainu of all…! If I can give my life to protect you, then I will! Please…!” he pleaded, gasping as there was a heavier thud against the doors behind him. They had apparently fetched a battering ram….

“Mairon! Leave! Now!” Melkor demanded of him, trying to shove him out of the way. “I have already accepted my fate! They will never stop hunting me, they will never stop until I am caught! I will rather have this than run! But you have to, Mairon! You have to make sure that my legacy lives on. I will NOT have you die here with me!”

Mairon paused then. The emotion he saw in Melkor’s eyes was not one he recognized. It was agonized, desperate almost, and Mairon nearly gave in. But he couldn’t - Not yet…! He had to at least tell him…!

“Melkor…! I… I can try…! But please…! Please don’t die, I… I lov-” 

His sweet words and confession were interupted by a loud noise as the grand doors behind him broke down. He wasn’t able to react at all, given no chance to turn around or throw a curse at them. All he knew suddenly was a sharp, sudden pain in his chest, and a panicked glint in his master’s eyes. It was suddenly hard to breathe and he coughed, daring to look down. 

There, in the middle of his chest, portruded a glimmering tip of an arrow. He gasped in disbelief and looked up at his master’s horrified face once more, before six more sharp pains hit his back and he staggered forward, clutching onto Melkor’s tunic. 

He thought he could hear Melkor call out his name though it was terribly muffled, he could feel the burned, sharp hands cup his face, but all he could feel was a sudden wetness on his body that was slowly growing colder and colder. He fought to stand up, he wanted to turn around and fight for his master, but for some reason he couldn’t move his body….! 

“Melkor…” he managed to gurgle, meeting his master’s gaze one last time. He could feel blood dribble down his chin, it clogged up his windpipe and even if he didn’t HAVE to breathe it was still highly uncomfortable. 

He briefly registered an arm around his waist, trying to pull him away, he could hear his master’s voice boom in what he assumed to be curses, but he ha no way of being sure. There was a wetness on his face, salty warm tears that weren’t his own, and he briefly wondered if it was his master that was crying.   
Of course not… How silly of him to even think such a thing….

To him it seemed like time had stopped, like an eternity had gone by when in truth it had barely been a minute. He felt rough hands pull his master away from him, he heard his master’s screams rise in volume, an he could only barely make out the silouette of him from his position on the floor…   
Why was he on the floor?  
Why was everything tilted sideways?

As he saw more silouettes closing up around his master however, the rage and panic forced his vision to clear. Melkor was being overrun and pushed down to the floor by men and elves alike, no matter how much he struggled. His crown had fallen off and rolled into a corner where the two silmarilis shone as bright as always. 

Suddenly everything became clear, frightengly so. He could see everything, he could hear everything, and he could acutely feel the seven arrows that pierced his torso. The sharp wood grinded like agony against his inners, one of them having hit a rib and another was lodged firmly into his spine. He became aware that he couldn’t feel his legs, and he swiftly realized that this body was useless, but because of the agony and his panic - he was unable to leave it.   
Everyone had their backs to him, most likely assuming that he was dead or unconcious. They were fiercly underestimating him, and he tried to crawl forward, to push himself to stand up. Melkor was unable to see him as he was unable to see Melkor because of the mass of people that clung around him, holding him down and restraining him. 

Melkor was cursing them in all th languages he knew, constantly trying to get a glimpse of his fallen lieutenant. His whole being started to glow in his rage, the people holding him down calling for help. And help came indeed… In the form of an axe. 

Mairon was unable to see much as he picked up a blade from the floor, blood trailing after him as he staggered towards them. The handle became slippery from his blood, but he had to at least try….! 

He was startled by a shrill scream of agony that came suddenly from his master however. The men cheered as a pool of blood started to spread around them, and for a moment Mairon saw red.   
Flames engulfed him in his rage, burning off the shafts of the arrows and melting the tips. The enemy shouted in alarm and warning as the heat in the room grew immensly. They didn’t know how to stop him however as he literally had no body currently. He was a living flame, and he would shield his master no matter what happened. 

Some stayed in the room and some of them ran, though whether it was to fetch reinforcements or simply to flee for their lives nobody would ever know. Mairon went on a rampage, killing anyone who dared stand too close to his master, his flames creating a protective wall as he kneeled down next to the fallen Vala.   
Mairon’s rage grew as he realized what had made his master scream - They had cut off his feet. 

“My little flame…” Melkor breathed out, reaching up to touch Mairon’s cheek, something he allowed, the flames only caressing and not harming the charred hands. “I feared you were dead…! Take this chance now - run…! Please…!” he ordered, groaning in pain as he kept bleeding from his legs. 

“He isn’t going to leave lest it is in chains, Morgoth”

Mairon straight up snarled as he heard Eönwë’s voice from the doorway. How dare he…!? How DARE the valar send him now after so many centuries, millenias of war and pain…! How DARE they send Eönwë now!? As if he had a right to command him…!

“It’s been a while, Eönwë” he hissed with such venom and hatred that the soldiers that had come with the sacred Maia backed away in fear. “You have no buisness here…!”

“Neither do you” the tall, winged Maia replied as he walked forward, sword drawn. “Your troops have all fallen, Sauron, give in and no more pain will be caused to you and your master”

Always so righteous, always so pompous, Mairon felt sick…! Melkor tried to sit up, tried to back away, and Mairon stepped in between Eönwë and his lord. He would defend him to the end of time, though he was swaying, his energy barely there anymore. He fought to keep his flame going, he fought to keep his energy there and not fall to his knees…! He didn’t have a proper weapon, no, but he had his voice and his magic still. He might not survive it, but if it could at the very least burn Eönwë, then it would be worth it. 

He started to sing, tapping into powers he hadn’t used since Tol Sirion and the battle against Finrod. He chanted, singing of promises of pain and death, of treachery and torture, of war and famine. His spell and song filled the room and like thick, tainted tendrils it stretched out towards the soldiers in the hallway.   
While Eönwë didn’t usually use his voice as a weapon, as there was usually no need to do so, he was still an ainur, still a maia, and fully capable of using said weapon. 

Eönwë’s voice stretched out and filled the room with light, his words about love and forgiveness and unity ringing clear to all that stood near. No matter how hard Mairon tried to hold on, to overpower the other, he was weakened still and Eönwë hadn’t taken any damage at all in the current war. 

It was but a matter of time before the light Mairon with such force that he was thrown backwards and into a pillar, his words and song cutting off at the same time as his spine. He crumbled to the floor, dizzy and slowed by the agony and the growing darkness that flooded his vision. 

He lay there in a heap, like a marionette with cut strings and his back in an unnatural angle. He saw his master reach out for him, he heard his screaming and cursing, and he was hopeless to reach him. 

He heard the clinking sound of chains, he saw them bind his master, and the last thing he saw was Eönwë’s saddened face before everything turned black.


End file.
